Finale
by Caitlin.md
Summary: After the final episode of season 1, questions are left unanswered. The development of Michael daunts on the Harmons, and Violet's declining mental state threatens to destroy the family for the last time. Will Tate and Violet rekindle their relationship, and will they find a way to stop the parasite that grows in the house next door? Contains all characters
1. Chapter 1

Vivien sat at the marble bench of the kitchen that smelt of bleach and detergent. With the imminent impossibility of suffering any consequences of using harsh chemicals, her old organic ways were out of the window. She drummed her fingernails against the polished surface and watched birds sweep their way across the framed never-ending movie that played through her double glazed windows. As often as she stood in the golden sun that streamed through, Vivien couldn't seem to heat up the constant cold that clung to her skin.

Ben moved though the doorframe and placed his callused hands on her shoulders. "Good morning, beautiful." She moved her head to face him, forcing the corners of her mouth into a smile.

"Have you seen Violet lately, Ben?" Her gaze fell onto the grey cardigan that hung from a hook on the wall. "I called for her last night, I think she is avoiding me."

"I wish I could say I had. You understand her better than I ever will, Viv." He rubbed her arms, noticing the goose bumps that prickled along her limbs. "Maybe we should just give her some time."

Vivien let a sigh escape her lips. "I'm so sick of waiting." She closed her eyes to think. "I've been waiting for years, but nothing has changed. It's just the same old life repeating itself time after time and I find myself questioning my sanity." She lay her hands on Ben's. "I dream of life in this house. Lighting the fire and curling up watching a movie on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Violet stroking Hallie on the couch, her little brother learning to tie his shoe laces." Her tone changed. "But that can never happen, Ben. Jeffrey is going to remain a day old, Violet will bare her scars forever, and us? We will have restless nights and no sleep for all eternity."

"You know I used to want to live forever?" Ben pulled out a stool next to his wife and sat down. "As a boy, I dreamed of hover boards and laser guns. We won't ever truly die, sure we are buried in the ground, but we definitely are not resting in peace. What happens when this place gets demolished? Will we just never show ourselves, trapped on the block of land that was the biggest mistake of our lives?" He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.

Vivien exhaled slowly, feeling the burning sensation of threatening tears pull at the backs of her eyes. "Violet will never get married. She will never have children. You will never get to coach Jeffrey's soccer team, or drop him off at his first day of school." Their eyes locked. "We have to move on from all of that, as much as it eats away at you. Dreaming about 'what could have been' isn't healthy." Her eyes drifted to the sunlight dancing bench top. "I should know, you know? Being trapped in here with Hayden was something out of a horror story, but it happened and I can't change that."

"I'm so sorry," Vivien interrupted his daily attempt of an apology.

"Let's not talk about that, I just wanted to put it out there." She smiled. "Maybe there's something nice we can do, bring some energy into this dark place."

He reached for her hands. "Maybe light some candles? Play some Frank Sinatra, have a glass of wine."

"Sounds perfect."

Moira entered the room rubbing a red washer against the wooden cabinets. The couple stopped speaking, content with the result of their conversation. "I'm sorry, if you would prefer for me to work on a different room just say." She turned and moved the towel between her fingers.

"Oh, no Moira. Feel free to do as you please." Vivien stood. "Are you completely sure that you are alright? Lately you seem to be rushing and working an awful lot." She walked over to the deep red haired woman.

"Thank you for your concern, Vivien. I however am not stressed or worried in the slightest. If anything I feel that something great is about to happen. I get this way sometimes, and I apologise for any strain I have caused you. If you wan't me to stop I will." She brushed the dust from her skirt. "There is just something comforting in doing what I do. I have a purpose, something to live for."

She nodded, "Yes, Jeffrey brings some meaning into our lives. Please, take a break and have some tea with Ben and I." She walked over to the kettle and switched it on.

"If you insist." She folded the washer and placed it on the bench top. Moira proceeded in pulling three mugs from the cabinet and lining them up next to Vivien. "If you don't mind me asking, have you received any word on Michael? I spotted Constance walking with him up the road, but of course felt no desire to stop them."

She poured some steaming water into the mugs and placed tea bags inside. "Well, I know that he is now home schooled by Constance. God knows how long that will last. The school started commenting on his rapid growth and she didn't feel that sending him back there was in his best interest." She shook her head. "I just don't know how to feel about that child. Looking into his eyes is looking into an old soul, I know that he is far beyond his years and capable of plenty."

"The missing nanny, I don't know about both of you but I know that something happened to her in that house. People don't just disappear." Ben took his tea from Vivien.

"Take it from me, Constance is keeping secrets. I am one of them after all. She will do no good for that child, I just pray that the pair of them leave this state and don't return." Moira sipped at the steaming golden liquid.

* * *

The room felt so empty to Violet. The shutters were closed, the murky green blue walls daunted in on the dark furniture that once provided such comfort to her. She sat on her rug by the foot of her bed, reading magazines that had been delivered wrongly to her instead of the girl next door.

Trending nail colours, new textures for winter, celebrity gossip - it was all bullshit to her. Just a waste of time and effort that just changed every season and repeated every year. Yet when there was nothing better to do she found herself flicking through the glossy pages. She admired the clean edge of each page, fingering the corner until it formed a slit in her skin. The red shine that bubbled out of the cut calmed her. There was something beautiful in the simplicity of blood. It doesn't change as you age, not that Violet ever would, it just continues to sustain your life until the point that it stops pumping. She wished everything could be that way, sturdy and never changing.

For the past few days whenever someone tried to speak to her she flicked the switch and hid herself. What's better than pretending you disappeared when you wish you could but can't? No one could penetrate the iron exterior she put up after the crap her family put her through. Not her mother, not her father, not the boy she gave her heart and soul to. Her feelings were under lock and key, and will remain that way until god knows when.

She licked the blood off of her already healed cut and moved to her bed, staring at the painted ceiling. She drifted off into sleep, finding her cheeks damp against her pillow.

* * *

"Violet?" Vivien spoke softly as she pushed on the door to her daughter's room. Her heart slowed as she saw a girl wrapped in a blanket lying on her bed. She walked over and sat on the edge of her bed. Vivien brushed the hair that fell over Violet's face behind her ear. "Oh my girl, I have missed you so much. Don't you ever leave me again." She stroked the pale cheek that was lit up by the morning sun. Violet's eyes began to open and she started to stir.

"Mom?" She pushed herself away. "Shit, you weren't supposed to see me!"

"Hey, hey." Vivien patted the space beside her, Violet declining the invitation to move next to her. "I won't tell anyone, don't worry. As long as I know you're alright."

"Whatever," She got up and moved over to her desk. "Oh, and for your information, I'm not alright. You know I saw leah the other day? Yeah, she was just standing at the gate, looking up into the house." Her mother drew her lips into a sympathetic line. "I go through crap too." Then she faded away until the space that she filled was as clear as glass.

Vivien stood. "Well, I know you can still hear me. I'm sorry about your friend. And I understand that this, uh, lifestyle is not ideal. But your father and I have to live with it too, hun. We go through the same struggles as you and it hurts to see you this way." She walked over to the door and turned around, noticing that _leave _was printed on the black board. "I love you." She stated, paused then closed the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Ben sat on the staircase, watching the light get manipulated by the stain glass in the office doors. Physics had always fascinated him, as a child he wanted to be a rocket scientist. Yet as he got older the realisation that his dream would never come true daunted on him. As a high school student he had to figure out what to do with the rest of his life, never coming to a final decision. He was shipped away from his parents to a strange college filled with strange people, and he watched them. He studied them. He noticed bizarre behaviour and odd habits. He questioned them. He researched them. Eventually he realised that he would never choose an occupation, his occupation had been set since his birth. Ben was wired in a particular way and he then knew that psychiatry was his purpose. During his studies he questioned his own mind, his own sanity. He tried to improve himself and avoid all possible imperfections and quirks of the human mind, but he ultimately just dissolved his character.

The doorbell rang and he got up to answer. He glared out of the peephole, seeing the top of a blonde woman's head. Constance. He sighed and opened the door, grimacing as she gave a plastic smile.

"Hello Ben." He nodded and she began to nervously play with her fingers at her waist. "I would like to speak with my son." She pushed past the tall man, turning left and climbing down the dank stairs to the basement.

"Constance, you can't keep entering our home without permission." Ben stood at the doorway, fully understanding that his works would fly in one ear and shoot out the other.

"I'm sorry Ben, but this is important." She walked around the corner. "My son, Tate." The sound bounced off the walls. "Tate, please show yourself for the sake of your dear mother." A blonde haired teenager snorted in the corner.

"Save yourself some dignity and don't give yourself that much credit. Everyone around here will start spitting on you." He leant against the wall, his grey sweater pushed up his arms.

"My beautiful boy," She walked over to him and cupped a hand around his cheek. "What will I ever do with you?" He pushed her hand down. "Well, there is a reason for my visit. You see, Michael. He is beginning to put a strain on my poor mind." She swiped the back of her hand under her eyes. "I can't sleep with him in the next room without feeling a deep ache in the pit of my gut. Tate, you always had a partnership with the devil and it would mean everything for you to speak to Michael."

Tate let out a chuckle. "Partnership with the devil? Oh please, don't kid yourself Constance." He walked across the room. "You were the only evil in my life."

"Tate," He raised his finger into a sharp point.

"You listen here, you disgusting self pitying witch. If you love him that much then pay for some sessions with Ben. That helped me, right? Fixed me up really well didn't it?" She struggled to form a clear argument, watching her dead son behind glossy eyes. "Get out of here, this house. Stay away from this family and don't ever come back, you hear me? And if you do," His lips formed a sickly grin that made his eyes crease at the edges, "I will do the honours of replacing your right eye with a bullet."

"Take that back." He words filled with venom. His head turned slowly side to side. "You remind me of my younger self, what I would do to slap some sense into that girl." She raised her hand and hit him across his face multitudes of times. He leant against the wall and sank to the ground raising his hands to stop her.

"Please stop!" Tears began to escape his eyes and scrape down his cheeks. She gave one final blow, standing at his feet watching him wail. Constance composed herself and walked back up the stairs, her shoes clicking with each step.

* * *

Violet pulled a shoe box out from under her bed, the lid had the word _memories _written on it in black sharpie. She pulled it open and rolled a joint in between her fingers, searching for her lighter in her cardigan's pocket. She flicked the roller and lit it, suffocating her lungs with the smoke and ecstasy. Her parents may not be able to see her, but nothing would stop the smell tiptoeing into their noses. Violet got to her feet and turned her radio onto full volume, blaring music she didn't recognise until the windows began to shake. She swung open her door and marched out, jumping down the stairs and banging her fists against the wall. She flew into the kitchen, leaning her weight against the wall and watched her mother talk to her dad.

"At least we know that girl's still around." Ben laughed to his wife.

"Somehow I feel that's not a problem." She chuckled, then hesitated. "Do I smell smoke?" She paused and they both sat there looking like idiots.

"She's just a teenager, what do you expect of her?" Ben pulled a corner of his lip up into a contorted smirk.

Violet resisted the urge to appear to them, and sucked in a deep breath with her lips around the cigaret.

"I expect her to do the right thing. Who does she think she is? She should give us the respect we deserve." Ben pushed his arm around Vivien and kissed her golden auburn hair that curled around.

Violet pushed herself off of the wall and walked over to the couple. "You know what? Fuck you. Fuck the both of you." She took one last drag then pressed it onto the marble bench top and threw it at her mother. She flipped up her middle finger and walked backwards out of the doorway, her parents not even knowing she was there. She slammed her feet onto each step and proceeded with her door as she entered her room. The music was still playing and with each beat the doorknob joined in, rattling in an enthusiastic manor. Violet punched the off button and threw herself onto her bed, screaming into her pillow. She had never been one to get frustrated, normally her rage just turned into tears. Yet she found her blood boiling and bubbling as it raced around her body. No one talked to her, there was no one to listen. Never in her life had she felt so trapped and alone. Boredom. Boredom was better than crying and screaming, and she found herself doing it more than she ever imagined possible. She heard her door creek open and made sure that she wouldn't be seen.

"I know you're here." Hayden walked over to her bed. "My guess is that you're lying here, crying about your parents and letting that Tate guy leave." Violet rolled onto her back and watched the young woman trace patterns on the blanket. "I mean, I don't blame you or anything. Your dad says he loves you, but I think that we both know that's straight from his ass. I think he says it a lot and just tries to think he means it, but let's face it, he doesn't. You know I walked in on him and your mom? I know he pretends she's me. He may have never loved me but he did wan't me. Screw him." She got up and began rummaging through the things on my drawers. "We're so similar, Violet. We both got fucked over big time and wound up dead in some shit hole of a house." She began to walk out of the door. "But you had a choice." Violet watched Hayden close the door behind her and stared into the distance. Maybe she had brought this upon herself.

* * *

Constance buttoned up the top of Michaels blue shirt, admiring the beauty that radiated from him. "Do be good, my boy." She used her finger to brush the hair out of his eyes. For a four year old he was huge, the size of a seven year old perhaps. His mind was incredibly gifted. She taught him lessons from third and fourth grade, Michael showing no strain or stress when presented with a problem. Yet he struggled to speak.

The doorbell rang and she went to welcome her guest. "Ah, Marcy hello." She showed the real estate agent through to her living room and gestured to a rose armchair. "Do sit and have a cup of tea."

The woman nodded and took a china plate, lifting the printed cup to her lips. "So, Constance, are you thinking of selling your home?" She placed the cup and saucer on the glass coffee table.

"Yes, I was thinking of finally leaving this part of my life behind. This place is just filled with so much death." She took a sip of tea. "Do you have some form of an idea of a price?

"I have for some time. It's quite a pleasant price considering the history of this house and next door." She scribbled a number and passed it to Constance.

"Excellent. Do have some cake, I made it myself." Marcy smiled and accepted a slice of the fruitcake. She took a large bite and nodded while chewing.

"Constance, I must get the recipe." She took another bite. "This really is amazing." Michael ran into the room and sat next to her, laughing as she ate. "Hi there, Michael. You have grown so much since I last saw you."

"Yes, he seems to be growing very quickly. I think it's all the food he eats." Constance watched Marcy struggle to swallow and begin to choke. "And I will give you the recipe, my secret ingredient is a large amount of rat poison. No need to worry, you still have several hours left." She began gasping for breath and clawed at the armrests, lifting a hand to her throat. "Michael, fetch me my gloves." The blond boy ran to the kitchen and returned with a handful of yellow plastic. "Thank you, my dear." She stretched them over her hands and wiggled her fingers into the slots. "Now where to put you."


	3. Chapter 3

"What do you mean?" Tate's eyebrows pulled into the centre of his forehead, his face distraught and hurt.

Hayden sat on the basement floor, rolling a red ball between her right hand and the ground. "What I mean is what I said. She's still pissed at you, I saw her fucking around with drugs in her room." She threw the shiny sphere at the mop of blonde hair that faced her across the room. He raised one hand and caught it, staring at the concrete ground. "She's just a whiney little bitch, why don't you just get over her?"

"I can't just get over her, Hayden. She's different." He pushed his free hand through his hair.

"She isn't different, you are better than she ever will be. You are different, she is bland and boring and you can do better." She shuffled towards him, staring at him through her lashes.

"Shut up." He got to his feet and began to drag his feet towards the stairs.

Hayden rubbed her hands along her thigh, pushing up the hem of her dress. "We could do great things together, you and I in this big house for as long as time itself."

"I said, shut up!" He ditched the ball at the wall and stormed up the stairs, slamming the door behind him. He rushed up the stairs and opened the door to Violet's room. He lay his feet softly on the floor, noticing the figure that lay on the double bed. Tate moved over to her desk and stood, watching her sleep. He loved the way her lips slightly curled up in the most innocent way, like a child who told a lie. He loved the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she slept. He loved the way she rolled the blanket under her toes to keep them warm at night. He loved her, but he loved her enough to respect her wishes. Tate moved to her blackboard and drew a cross in the far right corner, then glanced back one last time before he moved out of her room. Violet opened an eye and saw the door close. She noticed the new letter on her board.

* * *

"Tate." She whispered and got to her feet, running to the door. She pulled it open and ran down the stairs searching for a sign. "Tate!" She shouted and ran down to the basement, she frantically turned and pulled herself up the stairs using the banister. "No, no, no." Violet ran from room to room, searching for any signs of the boy that held a piece of her heart. She felt warm tears fall from her cheeks. "I miss you." She spun on her heels and paced back up to her room. Tate sat on the bottom stair, head in hands. He knew he was doing the right thing, but why did it have to be so hard?

* * *

Ben opened the back door and pulled himself outside. He missed the way the sun had once felt against his skin, now he could only enjoy warmth through a distant memory. A crack came from behind a large tree in the corner of the yard. A bump of blond hair sashayed around the garden. "Constance, I know you're there." He walked over to the woman.

"Why hello, Ben. How's that _lovely_ wife of yours?" She pulled the gloves off her hands and tossed them into the freshly turned dirt, pressing her glossy black shoe into the vibrant yellow.

Ben rolled his eyes and cupped the back of his neck. "Please, just remind me what's going on here and leave."

She began to walk away then paused and turned to face the man. "Well, you see. I really have the feeling that New York is the place for Michael, my fine boy, to live in."

He shook his head. "I really don't understand how that relates."

"Oh but you will." She plodded away to the house next door.

Ben returned to the inside of the home, making his way down the hall to his office. "She's right." He spun on his heels to face Marcy, who was gripping the banister of the stairs. "This home really does have death written all over it."

"Marcy." Ben walked over to her. "What did she do to you?"

"Poison, and that Michael helped her do it."

* * *

Violet stood at her window, tracing her finger across the dusty sill. The trees manipulated the light on her window, creating an out of place serenity. She watched as a figure approached the proud letterbox then still, their chin lifting under a drooping hat to reveal their youthful complexion. Leah. Violet felt her stomach coil as she slammed her fist against the window, trying to grasp the attention of her old friend. Leah looked up at the window, grimaced and quickly continued down the hill. She thought that if there were a next time, she had be better prepared.

* * *

"I must say that there is a part of me that is glad that baby isn't ours." Chad said as he straightened Patrick's tie.

"Tell me about it. I know that parenthood is rewarding, but only now do I understand how a crying baby makes you feel at two in the morning." He chuckled.

"How does Vivien manage that racket every night?" Chad glanced at his reflection in the mirror and licked his thumb, brushing a hair back into place. "I don't suppose that Ben is that much of a help." A creak of the door revealed the middle aged woman who disgusted their ways more than anyone. Marcy shook her head. "Marcy? What happened to you?"

"Oh boys, I'm here to stay."

"We aren't boys, we're men. I'm sorry tha-" Chad was cut off.

"You're unnatural perverts, that's what you are." She clasped her hands together, her eyebrows resting rather high on her forehead.

"You bitch." Chad pushed passed her in a huff, Patrick chasing him at his heels.

* * *

The stars twinkled in the evening sky while the clink of glass filled the room. Ben and Vivien toasted to their evening ahead and sipped at the red wine that had been ageing in the basement since they moved in. "To happier days and the wonderful night ahead." The man said while gazing into his wife's eyes. Vivien smiled widely as she listened to the voice of Sinatra bouncing off the room's furnishings. She had always loved the acoustics of the lounge, how sounds faintly echoed under the high ceilings. It was the perfect place to play the cello, it adopted a dark, almost haunting aura.

"I hope that Violet is doing better." Ben swished the liquid around his glass, taking in it's bitter scent.

Vivien knew that she was alright, but she also knew that the girl wouldn't want her father to hear of the encounter. It would only make him more eager to see her. "Please Ben, let's not talk about Violet or Marcy, or Constance and Michael. Let's just keep conversation light, the way it used to be."

"Anything for you." The corners of his lips curved upwards. But what was there to talk about? They didn't have any functions to attend, their friends weren't a part of their lives anymore. Chat about their jobs was long gone, and any normality from their old life had dripped through the gaps between their fingers. What was once a full fist was now nothing but an empty reminder of what once was.


	4. Chapter 4

A trembling sob was resonating down the hall, the morning sun shining through the tiffany fixtures. Hayden made her way through the doorway and found an unfamiliar woman hunched over on the couch. "Hello?" The young woman placed a hand on Marcy's shoulder.

"Oh, hello dear." She dabbed a handkerchief under her nose.

"I'm Hayden."

"Marcy." She looked up through tear soaked lashes. "So, are-are you a ghost?"

"I suppose I am, just like you." The woman whimpered again. "It's going to be alright, Marcy. I've lived like this for a while now, and though it doesn't get better, it does get easier." Her statement didn't seem to help, Marcy shaking her head to the news. "Hey there," Hayden rubbed her hand along the woman's shoulder. "Don't cry. Look, you won't be able to leave the house, but that doesn't mean that life can't be fun."

"Life?" She raised her voice, the word echoing down the hall. "How is it life if we aren't living?" Hayden's lips parted as if she were about to speak. "We are all dead, dead! I'm buried in the yard yet I am sitting here. That makes no sense, I wish I were dead, properly dead."

"Don't say that." Hayden sat next to her. "We can still scare anyone who comes inside, we can read the magazines and newspapers that get mistakingly sent here."

"What else?"

"We can talk to the other people here."

Marcy shook her head and folded her handkerchief in a huff. "I'm not going to get friendly with two gays."

"There are plenty of other people here, nice people too." Hayden gave her a smile.

"It just didn't hit me right away, that we will be here forever and that we can't leave or die."

"Don't think about that right now, just relax."

* * *

Violet sat in her bedroom, scribbling on the back of an old receipt. She took a moment to read it again, then used a pin to attach it to the inside of her black hat. Quickly, she walked down the stairs and to the letterbox, placing it on top firmly. She then glanced around the street, returning inside. Violet figured that if Leah were to come back, she would recognise the hat and pick it up. The only issue was making her believe that it's not just a joke.

* * *

A knock sounded at Constance's front door. "Just a moment." She shouted as she fixed her hair in the living room mirror. The woman strutted to the door and opened it, revealing a tall man in a policeman's uniform. "Good day." She gave a plastic smile.

"Constance Langdon?"

She nodded her head. "Why yes, that is my name."

"I need to ask you a few questions." The man peeked over her shoulder at the small blonde boy sipping from a cup.

"Oh yes, do come in." He followed her into the warmly furnished room and sat in the armchair. "May I get you anything, tea or coffee?" He shook his head.

"No, I just ate." She sat opposite him.

"Is everything alright?"

"Actually, no it's not. L.A. Homes Realty's Marcy has been reported missing as of this morning." He gave her a moment to react, watching Constance cover her mouth in shock. "Are you aware of her whereabouts?"

"No, unfortunately I'm not." He noted something in a black leather-bound book.

"When was the last time that you saw her?"

"I'm not too sure, it would have to of been a few months ago. A brief conversation over the fence, I liked to keep updated on the neighbouring house." He nodded as the little boy trod into the room. "Michael, darling, would you be a good boy and go play in your room?" He nodded and ran out of sight.

"Is that Vivienne and Ben's child?" Constance nodded. "It was very good of you, taking him in."

"Thank you." She slid a finger under her eye, catching a tear that never fell. "I hope that they can see he's in good care."

"I'm sure they can." He gave a sympathetic smile, not understanding that indeed they could. "Where were you yesterday morning?"

"Taking care of Michael, teaching him some history before his swimming lesson." He noted it in the book.

"What time did you leave the house?"

"12:30, I remember." She placed her hands in her lap. "We were back at two."

"Thank you," He stood up and walked towards the door. "We will be sure to tell you if there is any news."

"Please do, Marcy _is_ a lovely woman." He nodded and left, Constance closing the door behind him. Michael rushed into the living room, clutching a doll without a head. "Ah, my boy, we will have to start looking for a new realtor.

* * *

Tate run his hand along the bannister as he ascended the stairs, staring at his favourite doorway in the house. He slowly moved towards Violets room, turning the door handle and pushing on it until it swung open. The afternoon sun rushed through the curtains, turning the floor into gold. He smiled and moved over to a shelf, stacks of books with dog eared pages and notes stuck between chapters. He picked up _The Masque of the Red Death, _opening and skimming the first few pages. He couldn't help but chuckle at the all too familiar dark mansion, the ghostly presence and the dimly lit rooms. Tate closed the book and held it under his arm, leaving an 'x' on the chalk board before leaving the empty room.


End file.
